Somewhere Between the Lines
by Moonlight M3lody
Summary: If he was to think over the whole thing, he would question how on earth things turned out this way. Back then, there wasn't Goddess Martel. There wasn't the Hero Mithos. There wasn't the legendary Four Seraphim. There were only four children on their adventures-and misadventures journeying on the war torn land Kratos found an old book that reminds him of his former companions.


It caught his eyes before he could fully process what it actually was. Tucked under a pile of debris, completely out of place. It didn't belong there, amidst dust and dirt, where it was stashed against time. He wasn't sure how it could ended there, but then again, many had happened and he was one of the three people to blame for that. He secretly snatched it before anyone could examine the seemingly uninteresting corner and secured it safely in his mercenary bag. Raine would be crazy if she ever saw what was in his possession, he thought. As if the very building of the Mausoleum itself didn't drive her to Ruin Mode-he wondered whether she could be worse, and decided he wouldn't take the risk to know.

It was almost twilight when they decided to end the day's venture, setting up camps in the middle of the meadow. Their detour to Balacruf Mausoleum was because Raine had insisted to agree on a Research Lab's employee to investigate the building, and he had certainly taken interest on the Chosen-only area, as they were unable to investigate it themselves. The scientists, of all people, actually accepted the fusing of the world better than most people in Tethe'alla. They took interests of things they have never seen, and the sense of familiarity that became alienated during the merge.

When the groups once again meddled in argument to keep Raine away from cooking utensils, Kratos slipped off from the camp, walking to an area patched with grass not so far away from their campsite. He leaned his body to a lone tree, relaxing himself.

It has been so long. Had it not because of that he wouldn't be reminded of those times again. Time when he was still fully human. He reached into his pocket; picking up a small, thick, covered with what must be once sturdy leather book. A book with language only three people in this world could read by now. The book written in the dead, ancient language long before the separated worlds existed. Back when he was still another soldier, when war was still raging, when he found a company consisted of a very curious teenager, a motherly half elf and her little brother.

How could it still existed? The language itself had died for more than two millennia. He remembered having the exact same book long long ago, given to Yuan on one of his birthday. The note on the first page answered his uncertainty. There, in neat, bold handwriting was "Let's end the war and get this over with." His own words four centuries ago, full with optimism and enthusiasm. Yuan must be the one dropping it in the mausoleum. He was slightly surprised that Yuan was still keeping the book throughout the years. A small pang in his heart caused him to sigh. They could never admit, but both of them could be extremely sentimental sometimes. Why else would he carry 4000 years old book everywhere aside of its sentimental value? It was a tale about Luna and Aska and he doubted Yuan need something like that to manage the Renegades.

If he was to think over the whole thing, he would question how on earth things turned out this way. Back then, there wasn't Goddess Martel. There wasn't the Hero Mithos. There wasn't the legendary Four Seraphim. There were only four children on their adventures-and misadventures journeying on the war torn land to try to convince both sides to change their crooked bias against the others. Four foolish idealists who ended warping the same world they wished to save.

Back to the book, it served him as a reminder to the lost days. How he used to read books whenever they stopped to rest, waited by Yuan who also wanted to read, they both devoured everything they encountered. Mithos would pry from behind, trying to make out a few words while Martel arranged their camp, shy but also intrigued. That was the early part of their adventure, when they had just met the Yggdrasils.

Martel knew how to read. But spending years on the road dampened her ability, and after a few times spotting her curious look at them, Yuan decided he would re-teach her (Kratos now has the suspicion that it wasn't Yuan's only motive-but no point bringing it up now. It was a lost time, way back before). Soon, Mithos too joined them in the reading club. He learnt fast, much faster than Yuan did,much to his dismay.

There weren't many reading materials back then. In the war, few people valued knowledge. He remembered how tearful they were when they saw libraries razed, books put on fire. They managed to snatch a few. Sometimes they found it on the road, dropped by refugees, sometimes stolen from enemy's possessions. The reading time was few and far between, but greatly cherished and enjoyed. Tales told and discussed. Topics grew into heated debates.

They loved books. How the texts flowed together into coherent passages, how word formed and whispered into their heart. How tangible papers brought them illusion of normal days. How book, a stack of papers bound into one held so much power. They weren't that close at the beginning. Their friendship was jagged with so many differences that Kratos found it was amazing they were able to go on a journey together without killing each other off. It was books. Kratos taught Yuan how to read. Yuan taught the Yggdrasils how to read.

When they got the rare glimpse of peace, without spells casted and activated, without clashings of swords and blood rain on their bodies, they implored the secret of letters, a small collection of symbol that opened a whole new world in front of them. A grimoire helped them learning magic spells, a fine addition to their self-taught style, a history book told them various stories and legends happened far before, long long ago before war robbed all normality. Papers helped them keep on track with recent events, especially after those long runs where you can't even distinguish between minutes, hours, days, or weeks. Even children's storybooks were welcomed with utmost interest. They didn't have the luxury of normal childhood days after all.

They fell in love with words. Soon, Martel taught them Elvish in return. With new language to command, they conquered rarer, older tomes of Heimdall and Exire. It was that around that time they learnt about the ancient deities-the Summon Spirits which led to the beginning of Mithos' plan to end the war. How Mithos' eyes glimmered when the war ended, like sun over the morning dew, when he could have been enrolling to school just like a normal boys would, how they promised to settle down, living nearby to each other, how they promised to read together just like before.

They stormed one library to another, burying themselves under piles of fluttering pages in frantic attempt to cure Martel's crystallization. Their experiment with cruxis crystal wasn't very successful, even giving them one or two strange symptoms in exchange of power.

Their tale was scattered across the millennia before finally, someone put an end to that. An end they truly deserve. After all, even the finest of story should have an ending. They have delayed the final chapter for too long.

Just like the worn off, forgotten book, the days were long gone in flurry of madness; drown between whispers and wishes and memories, washed away by time.

He closed the book with green eyes etched on his mind, listening to the reverberated sound of laughter a young man stepping on adulthood produced faraway. Like back then, he smiled.

A/N: I think it's groovy at the ending…run out of words. I like this though, Kratos and books.


End file.
